


Upgrade

by extryn



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Cock Cages, Dom/sub, F/M, Genderfuck, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Strap-Ons, The Vault (Doctor Who)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22610110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extryn/pseuds/extryn
Summary: She secures the buckles with a well-practised flick of one hand. It fits him far less well; the straps cut into the knife edges of his hips, the hollows of his buttocks, pulling the soft fat of his inner thighs into tight rolls.
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor/Missy
Comments: 12
Kudos: 57





	Upgrade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zabbers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zabbers/gifts).



> Missy fucks the Doctor, but _he's_ wearing the strap-on. That's, that's really it. I'm afraid it's still my brand.

She secures the buckles with a well-practised flick of one hand. It fits him far less well; the straps cut into the knife edges of his hips, the hollows of his buttocks, pulling the soft fat of his inner thighs into tight rolls.

The purple phallus she straps onto him is nothing short of grotesque; a caricature of all the bodies he’s ever had. The ridges are exaggerated, the anatomy more human than Gallifreyan. He hasn’t seen it before.

Perhaps she—in the privacy of her solitude, perhaps she’d enjoyed this shape inside her, and the way it had filled her perfectly, better than his own, and he feels himself surge against the unforgiving steel, strangling the blood pounding into his cock.

‘There,’ she says, sweetly, that simpering voice that sounds too much like her quiet moments for comfort. ‘Now you’re all dolled up.’

‘Missy,’ he begins, and isn’t sure how this sentence was supposed to start, let alone end. He’s all too aware of the half-open shape of his mouth, lopsided with indecision. So is she. The Master takes a finger under the swell of his lower lip, draws it through the saliva that has suddenly pooled at the thought of her pleasuring herself. She touches the very tip of his artificial cock, just the pad of her finger, a thin line of wetness imitating the precome he can feel leaking inside the cage.

She looks at him. Too shrewdly, for someone who has spent the last hour hesitating her way through emotion after emotion, exhausting him, as if she knows him with an immediacy she can hardly fathom for herself. ‘If you like,’ she says, and kisses him.

Her mouth is gentle, teasing. He relaxes into it, his arousal settling into something slower and deeper, more bearable. That is, until she makes space between their bodies to bring a hand down around the dildo he’d already forgotten was attached to him. She strokes it in time with her tongue sliding inside his cheek.

He feels it. He _does_ feel it, in its own way. The pressure, bumping against the root of his cock, jostling the cage holding him, reflected like a mirror box within his somatosensory cortex. The imagined ghost of what this could feel like.

He hardens. Painfully so. Barely even half-way, before the metal bars cut into him, the steel cap forcing his cock small and thick, and the involuntary thrust of his hips only makes it worse. The sense of resistance offered by her hand, suddenly squeezing, makes the pressure all the more tangible. 

‘Spit,’ she says, offering her palm to him. He does. Quiet, as controlled as he can manage for something that leaves the sick weight of shame sliding down his oesophagus.

She rubs her palm over the head of the dildo, a firm circle that he knows would make him shudder, over-sensitive, mimicking the bite of the steel dome his cock is pressed against. It takes time, to spread his spit down the shaft, but the Doctor can feel that, too. The way her hand, squeezing, now becomes slick around him. He slips easily into her fist, the stop-start of it popping through her fingers.

He moans, his hand drifting to where he feels his erection straining, the blood swelling the base of his cock, pulling it out from his body obscenely and stretching his balls against the ring locking the cage to him. The aches throb as one, worsening with every stroke of her hand, the Doctor now fucking her fist openly, as if he might come if he could only thrust hard enough, could wring enough sensation from the pressure to push himself over the edge.

She closes her sticky hand around his fingers, and places them on the dildo instead. ‘Touch yourself for me,’ she murmurs, a little sing-song swirled in the treacle of her voice, enough that the Doctor knows it cannot be this simple.

He takes hold of his new cock, cool and hard and unyielding to his touch, and strokes it. He falls into his natural rhythm quickly, a hard, sharply twisting pull, groaning with every jerk of his hips, every time he pushes the hard base of the dildo into the bottomless ache of his arousal. He _could_ come, he knows he could, if he could just—

The Master, previously content to watch him, now brings her delicate fingers to the stripes of flesh bulging through the cage. She strokes him, just the edge of her fingernail reaching him between between the bars, making him yelp and throttle his cock harder. ‘Please,’ he whispers, the strain of his erection against the cage painful, so painful, now, ‘Please, let me—’

She laughs, a moan of a sound, as if she is sharing equally in his suffering. ‘I _am_ letting you touch it. Keep going, darling, you’re doing terribly well.’

The Master takes a handful of his cock, a heavy weight shaped by stainless steel, and the Doctor gasps and curls around her, losing his grip on the cock in his fist. 

She tuts and pulls her hand away, the Doctor’s hips chasing it with a choked moan. ‘If you’re so distracted by that, Doctor, we should put it away.’

She picks up his trousers, caressing them more lovingly than she has his body, and draws them up around his hips. They fit. They fit well enough she can button them around him, trapping his caged cock against his body, clothing it, leaving the purple length of his erection protruding through his fly.

He looks at her, and knows he must seem miserable, a child throwing a tantrum, a wound inside him growing deeper with every throb of his cock.

‘Tell me,’ she says, lowering onto her knees, ‘Have you thought about what it would be like?’

Dizzy at the thought of her mouth, he can't follow. He doesn’t think her mouth has ever been so close to his cock. Her eyes are so bright, her lips so full and red, he thinks he might cry from the intensity of the sensation assaulting him.

‘Without this,’ the Master says, and flicks the end of his cock, the vibration jolting through him. ‘If you woke up, one day, and it simply wasn’t there.’

‘I,’ he says, ‘Please, I need—’

‘And it simply wasn’t there,’ she continues, her fingernail and thumb snapping against it now, over and over, the motion transmitting into his cock, as if every flick was hitting his own slit, making him flinch as he is now. ‘And this was all you had.’

The Doctor swallows, air sticking in his throat, and gulps out, ‘ _Master._ ’

She stops, returning her gaze to his, and says, ‘That’s not my name.’

The Doctor’s face crumples, his agony finally seeping out of the cracks, pouring into his voice, as he whimpers it instead - ‘Missy. Please.’

She laughs at him, high and thin, shaking her head as if he’s missed the punchline, and swallows the head of his silicone cock.

He doesn’t dare move, until she closes her eyes and sucks, and his brain abruptly shorts out and he thrusts forwards on animal instinct. She permits it, and he feels - everything, he feels the rough of her tongue, the suction of her lips, pulling him deeper, the gentle thump of the back of her throat, the flutters of her fingers at the base. He senses everything and he cannot feel any of it.

‘If I licked your clit like this,’ she whispers, the vowels softened around his cock, ‘Would you come, Doctor?’

He whines, trying to fuck back into her mouth, reach her throat, something - anything - but she pulls off. ‘Yes,’ he says, automatically, ‘No, I, I can, if you let me try, I could—’

She looks sideways at him. ‘I don’t think you could. You’d have to learn all over again,’ she says, kissing the tip of his cock, lipstick smeared around it.

‘Would you like that?’ the Master says, reaching down to palm the steel edges of his cock, trapped, nearly as insensate as the one above it, ‘Doctor?’

‘Yes,’ he admits, and comes, uncomfortable and adrift and utterly pleasureless.


End file.
